Summary

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon George at the Wheel; Or, Life in the Pilot-House

George did not dare spend a great while in Silk Stocking's company, for fear that some of the guerrillas might see him and suspect something; so he walked slowly toward the rancho, after seeing him eat the cracker, and the horse began cropping the grass again.
The hours always pass away slowly when one is impatient, and this was the longest and gloomiest day of George's captivity. He spent it, as the most of the guerrillas spent all their unemployed moments, lying at his ease on his blanket; but to a boy of George's active habits this was anything but an agreeable way of killing time.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon George at the Wheel; Or, Life in the Pilot-House

It was all George could do to refrain from telling the nonchalant robber that things would not always be so—that if he lived, he would see the day that he could not rob and shoot honest settlers without being followed across the river and punished wherever he was found—and if he had told him so, he would have uttered nothing but the truth. The time did come, sure enough, and Fletcher lived to see it, when the simple crossing of the Rio Grande did not insure the safety of the raiders.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon George at the Wheel; Or, Life in the Pilot-House

Gus Robbins was standing in the edge of the timber gazing stupidly after the prisoner and his captors, as if he had not yet been able to make up his mind, whether he was awake or dreaming; and Ned was walking back and forth, wringing his hands and making other demonstrations indicative of a very agitated state of mind.
"There is nothing for him to cry over," thought George, who was surprised at his cousin's want of pluck. "He can't get lost if he tries; and he will be sure to meet his father in Brownsville.
Source: Gutenberg

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